Demons in my head
by cinnamean
Summary: Not all of Stanley's memories came back to him. Most were still locked away, always out of his reach. Sometimes they would come trickling back, but it had been almost a year since Weirdmageddon. Shouldn't he be fine now? With his brother offering no help, another being decides to give Stan a hand. Semi-AU where Stanley doesn't remember everything and struggles to get his memories
1. Chapter 1

Stanley Pines cursed his big, shaky old man fingers for the fifth consecutive time that day. Getting old was not as fun as it seemed in books or movies. Your body basically turned against you. Well, on the bright side, he wasn't as bad as the other guys who were losing their hearing.

Wait, no, he had hearing aids. Um, he had his sight though, right? Nah, his was awful. He couldn't even tell the difference between a car and a bear.

Hm… Well, he wasn't loosing his memories. In fact, he was more gaining them back than anything else. It was a hard process though. Going from not being able to remember his name to peachy-perfect couldn't happen in a day, after all.

Luckily, he had his family to help him. Mabel and Dipper were always there for him after he had lost his memories. Though, neither of them were quite as eager to help as his brother was.

He remembered during the first week of loosing his memories how he had tried so hard. Talking to him daily and hardly ever giving Stan a moment of privacy. While it was annoying back then having some stranger following him around like a lost dog, he now appreciated the gesture. Now, thanks to his family, some of the holes in his head were filled. Even if they were only from the past summer and a some of his childhood.

Speaking of summer, the rising temperature hinted at its arrival. He couldn't wait to see his niece and nephew again. Video chats with awful reception got old fast. Stan and Ford had already arranged with their parents for the twins to stay with them in Gravity Falls again this summer. It was unfortunate that Soos wasn't going to be there, but he had told them it'd be fine. He was going to visit some distant relatives with his grandmother in Spain anyway.

So the Mystery Shack was going to be all theirs.

Stan felt a rush of energy shiver through his body. So much was planned in his head already, he couldn't wait for it. The best part about this summer was that he could get to spend some time with Ford this time.

"Lee!" he heard Stanford shout. "Did you finish tying up that net?"

Stan looked down at the poorly constructed net in his lap. He cursed his fingers a sixth time. "Sorry, Pointdexter. I, uh, got distracted."

Ford took a seat next to Stanley, the gentle waves of the ocean rocking them slowly back and forth. He looked worried. "Do you need to talk about it?"

Stanley just rolled his eyes. "I didn't remember anything new, don't worry. Just..." he paused, looking at the horizon, grinning widely. "Thinking. 'Bout this summer, ya'know? It's going to be exciting, I just know it."

There was a moment of peaceful silence. Stan was happy that his brother was here with him. It meant he wasn't alone. Being alone never made him feel good. Now, being surrounded by those you love, best feeling in the world, hands down. Though, winning at gambling wasn't too bad either.

The silence was interrupted by Ford clearing his throat. "Would you like me to help you with those knots? We'll need these ropes for when we get around to the Gulf of Mexico."

Stan handed Ford some of the rope. "Sure thing. You seem to be rushing though. We aren't going to be there for a couple of weeks at the very least."

"I don't see a problem with being well prepared."

The two of them returned to the peaceful silence, watching as the sun slowly lowered. When the sun was just starting to disappear over the horizon and the two twins were almost done, Stanley stood up, leaving his half of the net behind on the seats. Leaning against the boat's railing, he watched as the sun finished painting the sky with shades of purple, orange, and pink.

Sunsets were one of Stanley's favorite things. While he didn't have a definite time, he knew that they've made him happy for a long time. In his opinion, he felt like they meant a second chance. Or maybe those were sunrises. Too bad he would never get up early enough to watch one. The only time he'd do that was when he was dead.

As the last few rays vanished and the sky turned darker, he heard the footsteps of Ford behind him. Looking over his shoulder to see what he was doing, he saw him holding up two mugs of hot chocolate, offering one to him.

Nodding his head in a silent thanks, he took the mug made by Mabel the previous summer reading "Best Grunkles" on the front. Blowing on it gently, he took a small sip, sighing in content as the sweet, warm liquid hit his stomach.

"Aren't we running low on the cocoa powder?"

Ford shrugged. "You looked so happy watching the sunset," he chuckled. "I thought you might appreciate the gesture."

Stan scoffed. Those who didn't know him would say he was being rude, but anyone who was close to the man knew that this was his way of showing thanks.

One of the best parts about being out on the ocean was being able to see all of the stars. With no factories, there is no pollution. With the sky so clear, the constellations were as clear as day. Ironic if you think about it.

Ford especially loved to look at the stars. When they were kids, Ford always raved on about space. Stan always found space to be scary, but all Ford could say was how it was fascinating. How there were endless possibilities beyond the Earth.

* * *

 ** _"_** ** _I wish I could see all the stars. All the smog here makes it hard to see them."_**

 ** _Stanley wrapped his arm around his brother's shoulders and grinned. "Don't worry, bro! Once we're out on the ocean, you'll get to see all the stars you want!"_**

 ** _Stanford smiled. "Yeah! Then I can see my favorite constellations in clear view. Orion is the best by far though."_**

 ** _"_** ** _Okay, whatever, doofus." He punched his brother in the arm, and Ford was quick to reply._**

 ** _Both of them giggled as quietly as they could without waking up their parents. They weren't too happy the last time they had caught them with the window open this late at night._**

* * *

Stanley rubbed his temples with his thumb and forefinger. Regaining a memory never left a good feeling afterwards.

Ford noticed Stan's sudden pain. "I think it's best for you to go to bed now. After all, we are landing on a port tomorrow and we will need our rest."

Stanley chugged the rest of his hot chocolate, finishing it with a sigh of content. "I didn't know I had an old man curfew." He pushed himself off the railing and popped his back. "If you're forcing me off to bed then you'd better be doing the same or I'll come into your room with my knuckle dusters. I won't hesitate, old man."

Stanford rolled his eyes and chuckled at the empty threat. "Sure, sure. Just go to bed. I want to look at the stars for a while longer."

Stanley turned away towards his bedroom. "G'night, Ford."

"Goodnight, Lee."

Walking through the kitchen and down the stairs, Stan walked past the first two door before walking into his room.

The walls were made of new wood with a strong scent. The floor was bare except for the shag carpet he had nailed down so that it would stop moving. In fact, the worst part about moving in was having to nail everything down. All it did was ruin the floorboards.

His desk was in the corner with a small lamp and a couple of papers, a paddleball, and of course, his two pairs of knuckle dusters. One old and worn down, the other sharp and pointed. The first pair for defense, and the other for violent sea creatures. Next to the desk were double doors leading into his closet. In there was a chest full of his… _Books._

Stanley sat down on his bed, feeling it dip under his weight. Pulling his dentures out, he put them in the glass of water by his night stand for tomorrow's use. That and his hearing aid. Now after stripping down to nothing but his usual striped boxers and tank top, he was set to go to bed.

After getting comfortable under the covers, he pulled a big, thick book off the nightstand and onto his lap. Just touching it left glitter on his hands.

* * *

 ** _Before the twins had left, Mabel had approached him the day before, hiding something skillfully behind her back._**

 ** _"_** ** _Grunkle Stan?"_**

 ** _"_** ** _Yes, Mabel sweetie?"_**

 ** _She unveiled said thing and Stanley was surprised. In Mabel's hands was a thick scrapbook, similar to her own, but different in subtle ways._**

 ** _"_** ** _Well, I was thinking before I left that I should give you something to… remember us by," Both of them grimaced at the choice of words. "So I decided to make you a scrapbook with most of our memories of summer. I wasn't able to get all of the pictures, but I hope you still like it."_**

 ** _Stan took the book gently from her hands, not saying a word. Flipping through the bright, colorful pictures, he felt tears start to well in his eyes. And not just from the glitter that slipped its way past his glasses._**

 ** _Mabel looked nervous. "Do you not like it? Shoot! I knew I should have just stuck with the ribbons instead-"_**

 ** _She was cut off by Stan pulling her into a hug. She squirmed in surprise before melting into his embrace._**

 ** _"_** ** _Thank you, Mabel. I love it," he said softly, trying not to make it obvious how close he was to crying._**

 ** _"_** ** _Grunkle Stan? Are you crying?"_**

* * *

Stan smiled at the thought of Mabel. Flipping the book open to the first page, his smile grew wider at the sight of the twins on their first day at Gravity Falls. Mabel looked ecstatic while Dipper had a bored-out-of-my-mind expression. At the top of the page was his niece's loopy cursive.

"First day of summer!" it read. Even Mabel's handwriting looked like her.

Stan saw a small note in the corner of the page that had a different style than his niece's.

"Mabel got a splinter stuck in her hand from hanging up all her posters." it read

He had read the same words over and over but they never failed to make the old man smile. The kids reminded him of himself and his brother when they were younger.

There was a sharp pain in his head. His hand dropped the book and massaged his head. Ouch, this one was a bad one. It was a little weird how sudden it was, but there was nothing he could do about that. Today wasn't eventful so he had spent a lot of time dwelling on his past.

Stan tried to focus on the pages, but his pounding head refused. The words were sharp and the whiteness of the pages were too bright. He couldn't read anything right now unless he wanted his eyeballs to walk out of his head in protest. Maybe he could just sleep it off.

Closing the book gently, he set in on the nightstand and snuggled under the covers. He curled up into a ball, his hands curled up by his chest and over the heart. His head still hurt, but there was nothing he could do about that. Well, there were the painkillers upstairs, but he was already under the covers. They were too far.

Stan stared at the back of his eyelids for what seemed like eternity until he finally lost consciousness.

That night, he dreamt of an X in the sky.

Stanley loved the ports. He didn't know whether it was all the cooky people he got to see or if it was just the levels of energy practically rolling off the place, but he loved coming here with his brother.

Stanford stood at his side, smiling to himself. With the way Stanley was gawking at everything, you'd think he was a little kid instead of an old man about to be in his seventies.

The scent of freshly cooked food and seawater hung heavily in the air, setting a scene of nostalgia. Small restaurants and ice cream shops were scattered along the streets, doors open welcoming those who wanted something to fill their stomachs with sugary, fatty food. Stanley felt his mouth water at the thought of something sweet. Nah, he could get junk later. Right now, he wanted _real_ meat instead of all those dried out pieces of jerky. While they were undeniably good, they got old.

"Hey, Fordsy, let's go get some grub or something. I would kill for a steak right now."

Stanford rolled his eyes. "We will get lunch later, Stanley. For now we need to get supplies for the boat," Ford pulled out two slips of paper out of his pocket, handing the shorter one to Stanley. "You go get the basic necessities. I need to get some parts for a machine I'm building. Remember that pack of Selkies we found? Well I was thinking that if I were to-"

"Yeah, yeah, nerd stuff. Still didn't like when you invited one on board and invited them for tea. Not the smartest move on your part," Stan cut off.

Snatching the paper out of Ford's hand, Stan waved his hand. "See you in a couple of hours, Fordsy! Then you're paying for lunch!"

Ford was swallowed up by the crowd, leaving Stan by himself. He had no need to be worried though since he had his knuckle dusters hidden away in his pockets for emergencies. The old ones, of course. No one would suspect N old man wearing a maroon hat and overcoat to be an excellent fighter.

Soon Stanley found himself further in town where he could find the actual stores. Looking for the first dollar store he saw, he stepped inside and pulled out his list.

Most items on there were normal such as toilet paper, toothpaste and so forth while others were more… Questionable.

"What the hell…? Ford, why the fuck do you need nail polish?" Stan muttered under his breath.

It was best not to question. For all he knew, Ford just liked to paint his nails or something.

Who was he to judge.

Stan threw the nail polish into the cart (a light purple, just like the list said) and went to look for some food.

He was never very good at this part. His mind always screamed at him to get tubs of ice cream and Pitt Soda, but he knew that his health wasn't

good enough to handle those kind of things anymore. He had to stay fit in order to be able to work on the boat anyway. Not to mention that the kinds of things he wanted would not last long out at sea.

Reluctantly passing the candy aisle, eyeing the toffee peanuts silently, he collected the things they would actually need like bread and canned foods. Stan practically grabbed all of the beef jerky there was since it was the only food he was allowed to have that would last on the boat. The salty meat was as good as he was going to get. He made sure to grab a box of cocoa powder too since they were running low.

Satisfied with the things he had thrown in the basket, he moved to the check-out. He paid the cashier and left the store. There were a lot of bags, but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle. He didn't spend most of his childhood in wrestling for nothing.

It was a little quiet without Ford helping him though. Usually they would joke with each other all the way back to the boat.

Pain hit him in the head, similar to the one last night but worse. He briefly felt himself drop to his knees, hearing the cans hit the ground with loud bangs.

* * *

 ** _The back of his shoulder burned. He could feel the skin peeling off, the heat radiating off, contrasting with the chill winter air. His own screams echoed in his head, the sound of his brothers voice being drowned out. There was a flashing red light and a burning bright blue. His eyes hurt, his shoulder hurt…_**

 ** _His heart ached with betrayal._**

* * *

Stanley opened his clenched shut eyes, now aware that he was on the ground. He felt a hand on his shoulder and a voice saying something to him.

A dark skinned woman was standing over him, speaking rapid Spanish. He didn't remember much of the language, but Stan could tell form her tone that she was asking if he was okay.

"No, no, I'm alright. Just got dizzy there for a sec'."

Her eyes widened. "Alright," she said with relief, switching to English. "Help with the bags?"

Stan looked at the cans trying to roll away and accepted her offer. It would take too long to pick all these up himself.

With a final wave and a thanks to the lady, he felt the exhaustion hit him full force.

He had no idea what had happened. One second he was fine and the next…

Stan shook his head. It was just a dizzy spell or something of the sort. He must not have been drinking enough water lately.

Dragging his feet, he walked through the ports, not looking at any of the bright colors like he was that morning. At the moment, he was too tired to even raise his head. Stanley boarded the boat, glad to be back at what he called home. He dropped the bags in the shade on the deck, drained from the episode earlier.

Walking through the kitchen and into his room, he flopped down on his bed, completely and utterly exhausted. Earlier he had been of excited to go to lunch with his brother, but now he didn't even want to leave the boat for a year.

The bed just was so comfortable right now to his aching muscles and head. Maybe a nap would do him some good…

" **Well, well, well. How interesting.** "

 _A player enters the field._


	2. Chapter 2

_Italics =_ Mindscape

 ** _Italics bold_** Dream/memory

 **Bold** = A certain someone's dialogue

* * *

 _Back and forth… Back and forth…_

 _Stanley rocked on the swing slowly, swaying with both feet still planted on the ground. The soil was soft and squishy beneath his slippers. His mind was blank and eyes distant. The soothing motion made him forget what he was doing beforehand. That is if he was even doing anything before he had sat down._

 _Back and forth… Back and forth…_

 _If he was, it probably didn't matter anyway…_

 _Snapping out of his stupor, Stanley's eyes focused and widened in surprised at his surroundings. He knew where he was, but it was the state of the place that surprised him so much._

 _In front of him was the Mystery Shack, that much he could tell. While it looked almost exactly like the one he called home, it had some odd differences. The structure of the building was off and the sign on the front was spelt incorrectly. It'd be a stretch to even call it spelling._

 _Stan turned his head, looking at the thousands of massive pine trees looming over him. The forest looked like it was closing in on him the more he looked. He tore his eyes away, staring down at his feet instead._

 _The most noticeable thing about this place though was the colors. Or, should he say, color. Aside from himself, the entire landscape was grey as far as he could see. It made him feel like he was stuck in some old black-and-white TV show that he liked to watch as a teenager._

 _Stan stood up and looked back at the swing set he had been sitting on. One of the poles was bent and the entire thing looked to like it was centuries old. Vines grew up along the sides and the chains were a rusty red. The most notable detail being the broken swing next to the one he was on, half of the seat missing and the other hanging off a single chain, the splintered end brushing the ground softly, swinging in the nonexistent breeze. The chains squeaked as it moved, making Stan feel nostalgic for some odd reason._

 _Stanley remembered he and Ford would come to play on this swing set all the time as kids. He was sure they had continued to do so throughout the rest of their childhood, but he could only remember times from when they were in elementary and middle school. They'd claimed them as kids the moment they wrote their names on the bottom of the seats._

* * *

 ** _The wind blew through his fluffy hair, cooling him from the summer sun's burning heat. He could already feel the sunburn developing on the back of his neck. He felt his butt lift into the air for just a second when he peaked at the top and he laughed before jerking back down in his seat and swinging uncontrollably to the sides, accidentally kicking Ford in the shin._**

 ** _"_** ** _Hey! Stanley, careful! I don't want another bruise, man."_**

 ** _"_** ** _That's why you gotta swing with me, doofus! Get your nose outta that book and have some fun."_**

* * *

 _The swings stopped with a final creak. He took this as a sign for him to keep moving._

 _Stanley spun around on his heel, turning to explore the rest of this weird place. Walking closer to the Mystery Shack, he noticed that half of the house was falling off a cliff. The broken pieces of tile and wood were suspended in air, as if time had frozen in its tracks._

 _Continuing on his quest of curiosity, Stan stepped through the familiar door of the shack expecting to see the living room and kitchen waiting for him. The last thing he expected to see was thousands of doors suspended in the air and a long set of stairs leading downwards. Stanley looked over the railings, unable to see where the steps ended._

 _His urge to explore died down for a split second before it was rekindled within an instant. A couple of creepy-ass stairs and doors wouldn't stop him! Although the lack of color did make everything a lot more eerie than it should have been._

 _Stanley took a step on a stair just to jerk forward and almost fall into the endless white void below. The step had nothing beneath to support it so when he had stepped on it, he had lost his balance. Sort of like when you step onto a small boat and wobble before you can stay upright._

 _Thankful for the railing, Stanley gripped the metal tightly, not trusting himself to not lose his footing and fall into oblivion. He went down the stairs slowly, the number of doors growing considerably the further he went. He tried leaning out and reaching to grab a handle, but his fingers could only brush against the nearest one._

 _Bouncing the last step after what seemed like hours, Stan walked through a hallway with even more doors than before. Luckily, this time they weren't floating like the ones earlier. Each door was fixed to a wall, ceiling, or some even the floor. Some were almost microscopic and others both of his hands couldn't wrap around the knob because of how gigantic they were. He kept walking through the corridor, but curiosity got the best of him. He twisted the knob of an averaged size old door with numbers carved into the wood._

 _When he opened the door, the amount of color inside made him squint._

* * *

 **Stanford laid in bed, sick with the flu. A high fever flushed his face, showing no signs of breaking any time soon. He obviously was not going to school today much to the distress of the sick fourteen year-old boy.**

 ** _"_** ** _I can't stay home, Stanley! I have that big test for Algebra I in three days and it's going in as our final grade! Oh gosh, Stanley, I can't miss it. I won't be able to get into a good college and my life will be ruined and-"_**

 ** _Stanley listened to his brother's rambling from his bottom bunk. A sense of guilt washed over him. It was his fault his brother was sick. He had forced him to go out and work on the boat in the middle of the rain. Gosh, he was such an idiot. Now both his dad and his brother were mad at him._**

 ** _He had to make things right._**

 ** _Stanley waited until it was the middle of the night and he was absolutely certain that his brother was asleep before he reached into his brothers backpack and grabbed the biggest textbook he saw. Pulling it out slowly as to not wake his brother, he flipped it to one of the many pages bookmarked with pink sticky notes._**

 ** _Looking at the page made his head swim with numbers. What even were half of these symbols? It was like looking at a completely different language!_**

 ** _He pushed the book aside. There was no way he could do this by himself. Ford was just going to have to suck it up with whatever grade he got._**

 ** _Just as he got up to put the book back, his brother coughed loudly, making Stanley jump. He quickly switched off the lamp and turned to his brother while hiding the closed textbook behind his back._**

 ** _"_** ** _Stanley?" Stanford mumbled tiredly, rubbing his eyes. "What are you doing up so late?"_**

 ** _"_** ** _Oh, nothing," Stanley said as steadily as he could. He had never been very good at lying to his brother. "I'm jus' readin' a book. Of mine. Not yours. Yeah."_**

 ** _Jeez, that was such a bad excuse, like Ford would ever believe that! Stanley hardly ever read anything. Unless if it was something about sailing or had a lot of adventure and violence, but even then the chances were low that he'd finish it._**

 ** _Ford yawned indifferently. "Whatever. Just don't make any noise."_**

 ** _He fell back asleep and would not remember any of the conversation in the morning. It seemed as if everything Stan had said to him went in one ear and out the other._**

 ** _Now remembering why he was even holding his twin's textbook in his hands, Stanley pried it open once again and read. He studied all through the night until he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore. He constantly felt falling asleep in his classes at school, but the pressure of the three day deadline kept him going._**

 ** _Then, it was the day of the test._**

 ** _Stealing Ford's glasses and borrowing his clothes, he threw them all on quickly. The prescription of the glasses were different than his, but it didn't matter to him. He never wore his own anyway, so what did it matter?_**

 ** _As soon as he was properly disguised as his brother, he dashed out of the house before his mom or dad could see him. If he rushed to school, then maybe he could cram in some more studying for a couple more minutes._**

 ** _Forging his father's signature, he slipped a paper to the front office stating that "Stanley" was sick at home. The lady took it before dismissing him with a grumpy "Thanks". Stan sat down at a table and pulled out the textbook he had been reading almost religiously for the past few days._**

 ** _The bell rang. Three stapled pieces of paper covered front to back in numbers and mathematical symbols was slapped down on his desk. Pulling out his chewed pencil, he wrote his brother's name at the top._**

 ** _He passed the test with a 92% and Ford never figured out that Stanley took the test for him._**

* * *

 _Stanley closed the door, a grin on his face. His brother still had no clue that he had done that for him. Despite what his grades said, he could be smart if he put his heart into it. You just had to know how to motivate him in the right way._

 _His surroundings didn't intimidate him anymore. If anything, it now felt like another home to him. This place belonged to him. A literal house of memories._

 _Now confident, he opened another door to look inside._

* * *

 ** _The hammering of nails mixed with the sounds of waves crashing on the sandy shores. Seagulls cried, flying above to scout for food. Down below was a set of ten year-old twins on the beach._**

 ** _"_** ** _Fordsy, hand me that nail would'ya?"_**

 ** _Ford "mmfh-ed" in reply, stopping his own hammering to hand his twin a nail he was holding in his mouth._**

 ** _"_** ** _Thanks."_**

 ** _Another indiscernible noise._**

 ** _The small set of twins did not know what they were doing other than attempting to nail up the holes in the bottom of the ship. It wouldn't be until a year or two later that they would realize they have been doing everything wrong and have to pry the sloppily nailed on boards off._**

 ** _Though the twins couldn't wait to sail around the world together._**

* * *

 _This memory wasn't as long as the other one, but just as heartwarming and nostalgic. Now he finally was sailing around the world with his brother. Although, it was odd why it took them so long. Probably because Ford had taken so long to get out of his college or something like that. He never really told Stan much about the past now that he thought about it… Probably just because they never dwelled on it for too long. His brother knew that regaining memories wasn't the most comfortable thing in the world for Stan._

 _Walking through the hallways, doors swung open left and right, up and down, echoing the memories of his childhood and preteen years. He didn't bother to look inside them; seeing as he already knew what was inside of them just from the sounds coming from within._

 _However, it seemed like the further down the hallway he went, the more muffled and quieter the twins' laughter got. Conversations sounded like hushed whispers and the laughs were more like choked sobs._

 _Taking a peek inside one of the muffled doors, he was met with the sight of pure static. The sounds coming from inside did not seem to be the brightest ones. Yelling, crying, and thumps all came from within. He could not make out any of what they were saying though… Was this a memory he had not remembered yet?_

 _Stanley tried to step inside and see what was happening, but he only got halfway in until the memory repelled him, making him to slam back into the wall. Picking his hat off the floor, he tried once more, getting only an inch further this time until the door flung him back again._

 _The same thing happened each time he tried to go through. The sound of static was hurting his ears at this point. Every time he tried to push his way in, the sounds got louder and louder._

 _The old man was getting increasingly frustrated. Was it too much to ask to gain all his memories back? Really?! He punched the door frame out of frustration, the static-y memory rippling like water._

 _A high-pitched laughter echoed from every direction. It vaguely reminded Stanley of someone he could not quite put his finger on… Then it clicked._

 _"_ _Bill," Stanley muttered darkly, taking on his fighting stance on instinct._

 _As if on cue, the glowing, one-eyed triangle appeared with a bright flash of light, opening his eye slowly and gazing down at Stan with his single slitted pupil. He crossed his legs and leaned back, twirling a cane he had conjured out of thin air. "_ **Well, well, well, if it isn't Stan Pines!** _"_

 _Stanley lunged forward, looking to land a punch on the damn tortilla chip. A battle cry tore its way out of his throat, helping him to build up his momentum and make sure this one really_ hurt. _He clenched his eyes shut to brace himself, and swung his fist forward as hard as he could._

 _When he hit nothing but air, he opened his eyes to find himself back in the same spot he was before. He hadn't moved even an inch._

 _Bill cackled, letting go of his cane. Stan watched as the stick continued to twirl on its own in the corner of his eye. "_ **You really think you can hurt me, Fez? Well, I guess I can't call you that anymore,** _" Bill stretched his arm and flicked Stan's hat. "_ **Guess I'll just have to find another nickname for you then. Wrinkly-Blood-Puppet sounds good to me!** _"_

 _"_ _What do you want, Bill?! I thought we defeated you!"_

 _Bill circling around Stanley while speaking. "_ **You really think you beat me, you insufferable sack of disappointment?** _" He grew in size and got close up in Stanley's face, his pupil as tall as Stanley was himself. "_ **I am an immortal being! You can't kill me with some hunk-of-junk memory gun!** _"_

 _Stanley's fists were sweating. He hated to admit it, but the demon intimidated him. Not that he would ever admit that out loud to a living soul._

 _Bill shrunk back down to normal and rolled his eye dramatically. "_ **You didn't even give me a chance to offer my deal yet!** _"_

 _Stanley's head snapped up to look up at the floating triangle. "What do you mean by deal? I'm not doing any business with you, demon. You might as well leave."_

 _Bill disregarded Stan's last comment, waving a hand as if it were some pesky bug. Instead of saying some witty remark, he pointed behind Stan. "_ **See that door there behind you, Stanley? The one you so rudely disrespected earlier?** _"_

 _Stan turned his head to acknowledge the ajar door, the static still present and the muffled sounds growing louder. "Yeah, and what about it?"_

 _"_ **You want to know what's in it, don't'cha?** _"_

 _"_ _Not with help from the likes of you."_

 _Bill huffed, crossing his arms and legs while pouting. "_ **No need to be difficult here, Mr. Wrinkles. Just trying to help you,** _" Bill drifted closer, placing an arm on Stan's shoulder and leaning on him. "_ **Y'know, like the friends we are and all.** " _Sarcasm was practically dripping off of his words._

 _Stan didn't notice it, but the hallway the two of them were in was slowly starting to fade away to white. The entire place was slowly erasing itself away. Stanley was too angry at Bill to hear the muffled voice of Ford calling for him in the distance._

 _"_ _No chance, Bill. I'm not falling for any of your tricks-"_

 _"_ **Ap!** _" Bill cut him off. "_ **It seems like you're waking up already. It's been a pleasure chatting with you, Sleeping Beauty. Now it's all just a matter of you remembering this conversation with me,** _" he paused, adjusting his bowtie and giving Stan a meaningful stare. "_ **Keep my deal in mind, Stanley Pines! You'll have to give in sooner or later. Curiosity was always a weakness to you filthy humans.** _"_

 _Stan opened his mouth to say something back, but he was not given a chance to before Bill flicked him in the forehead._

 _The world disappeared with a bright flash of light._

* * *

Stan woke up in a cold sweat, his sweater sticking to his back when he sat up. Groaning in disgust, he peeled the disgusting, sweaty wool off of his back. He would have to wash this soon somehow. Didn't want to waste fresh water on his shirt though, even if it was his favorite. It matched with his hat perfectly.

Speaking of the hat, he found it on the floor, knocked off his head after his nap. Man, he really needed to stop dropping his hat or else he was going to lose it.

It was weird how he woke up all wet though. Probably had something to do with him falling asleep in a sweater and a trench coat. Now that he was shirtless, the salty sea air drafting through made him shiver.

Stanley was broken out of his thoughts when he heard his brother shouting his name, a slight undertone of panic laced into his voice. Thinking something was wrong, Stan quickly grabbed the nearest clean shirt and ran up the stairs. A thousand scenarios shot through his head all at once. Shit, Ford wasn't hurt, was he?

Throwing himself up the last steps, he ran to his brother. "What's wrong? Did something happen-"

Ford pulled him into a tight hug, his twelve fingers pressing into Stan's back, the tight embrace effectively cut off his words. Stan hesitantly wrapped his arms around his brother, not knowing what was going on. Why was he so worried exactly?

After an awkward amount of hugging, Stan cleared his throat, telling his brother enough was enough.

"Oh, sorry about that," Ford said, pulling away from his brother and adjusting his glasses awkwardly. "I just saw the bags thrown all over the kitchen and panicked I guess. Sorry."

Stan noted how the supplies he had gotten earlier were strewn across the floor, all having fallen out of the bags when he had carelessly dropped them when he had gotten back.

"Uh, yeah… Sorry about that, Fordsy. I was tired when I got back so I just kinda threw them down and took a nap downstairs."

Ford frowned and his eyebrows drew together in concern. "That isn't like you, Stanley… Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, _Mother_ ," Stanley said, trying to laugh it off. "Just a little tired, that's all."

"But you went to bed so early-"

"Stanford, I'm fine."

Ford's mouth snapped shut. It was rare that Stan ever used his brother's full name, only doing so when he was serious. His brother's jaw clenched, obviously wanting to say more, but with a sharp glare from Stan, his jaw went slack and he sighed.

A tense moment hung over the two of them. Ford coughed into his fist, looking down at the scattered groceries. "How about we put these things away now then?"

Stanley relaxed his shoulders, the tension releasing. "Yeah, sure, Pointdexter."

A certain demon watched the encounter from afar, laughing to himself inside of Stan's mindscape. Oh, how he missed messing with his favorite toys.

Now to wait.


End file.
